


Love Is All We Need Here

by non_tiembo_mala



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drabble, M/M, POV Dean, Schmoop, Soulmates, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 06:40:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5902249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/non_tiembo_mala/pseuds/non_tiembo_mala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They've come so far against all the odds and they're still here, still fighting, still together. Always together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Is All We Need Here

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd drabble because I pass all my time the same way, lost in wistful thoughts about the Winchesters.
> 
> Title lovingly lifted from Dave Matthew's Band's The Space Between (my absolute anthem for Sam and Dean)

If someone were to ever ask Dean to recall how or when it changed - not that anyone would, of course, because it’s all theirs and only theirs, just a secret belonging only to him and his brother - he really couldn’t say.

There was no magical moment, no sudden epiphany. It wasn’t like one minute Sam was his gawky kid brother and the next he was the uncontested champion of Dean’s heart and soul. Maybe he always had been - Dean figures that’s likely the case - but it all came together in the tiny day-to-day pieces of their lives, too little to notice but far too much to ever ignore. 

This thing with Sam, everything they are - his whole life bound outside his body within his brother’s honey-warm skin - happened as naturally, as inevitably, as growing up. Little by little it closed in, drew closer; it was a wolf circling its prey or the spark on an ignition line glowing stronger as it snakes it way closer to detonation. Looking back Dean can see the subtle, shivery thrill of it, the inescapable light of it where it touched every part of their history, even if at the time he was too in it to recognize what it was.

He always thinks that first time shouldn’t have been a surprise. And it wasn’t, not really. Surprise, Dean thinks, is entirely the wrong word.

All of their lives have been a devotion - are - a devotion; in one way or another close, intimate, knowing, protecting, needing, adoring. 

It was sharing a bed with his kid brother until their father said they were too old, spending every night apart missing the comfort of their closeness, the safety of it, the surety of it. It was stealing into each other’s beds after Dad slept, reveling in the freedom on the nights he was altogether gone. Sam had those big doe eyes, trusting, loving eyes that told Dean everything he needed to know, an echo of everything he already knew. He’d say _shhh, just this once_ and Sam would laugh his little kid laugh and Dean would feel the bubbles of it lifting him up, damn near soaring because Sam looked at him like he might as well have hung the moon. 

It was telling himself it was always for Sam, scared of the monsters under his bed, even though without the monsters Dean knew he liked his nights better wrapped up in his brother. It was cherishing those moments, those nights, realizing that all the ones without it didn’t feel right, left him aching for the brushes of smooth baby-soft skin, the tickle of Sam’s hair when he’d move, bumps from knobby knees and rogue elbows, the warmth of sleep-sour breath against his chest, the body beside him growing stubbornly more and more until what once fit in the cradle of his arms now required him to tilt his chin up.

It was hearing _take care of Sammy_ echo in his ears, feeling it sing in his veins, floating in his blood with the power of a current, directing him, defining him, leading him the way that would ever matter.

It was that look, the one Sam had given him since always, the one he was somehow still giving him decades later: those big, bright eyes still trusting, sweet and innocent - impossibly innocent even now when his too-long hair falls in his face so Dean still sees that little boy, his little brother, even when his lips are puffy and bruised, spit-slick or wet with come, sweat beading at his temples, pooling in the hollow of his throat, his cheeks flushed and a little glistening and the colour of Dean’s heart. 

They’re practically settled now, all things considered, and Dean can hardly believe it. Which is saying something, really. He never thought he live to see this close to forty, never dreamed he’d spend his life worshipping - devotedly - at the altar of his brother’s body, his soulmate, but hey- that’s how it’s turned out so far and Dean is not complaining. 

The bunker feels eerily like it’s _theirs_ , like it belongs to them, like they are its keepers.

And it keeps them, too. 

The shit storm is ever looming on the horizon but they don’t know it any other way. Dean isn’t saying he wants it- hell, he’d give Sam the normalish, almost-apple pie life he knows his brother used to dream about if he thought it was something they were both capable of but the demons and the Darkness say they’ve got other plans. 

Dean does know one thing to be sure, knows it to be true like the beat of his own heart: Sam is his. And he belongs to Sam. Always has, always will.

The nerdy, insatiable, beautiful bastard has had Dean wrapped around his pinky since long before Dean knew enough to notice and he still does, as surely as he did that first time he leaned in and slipped his petal tongue between Dean’s lips and Dean just let him. He let his hands find his brother then, too, all the familiar-but-new places Sam had to have him. Dean always gave Sam everything he asked for because it was everything Dean wanted, too. 

He still remembers his brother’s voice in his ear, so much softer, higher than it is now, a little broken but unwaveringly sure through the teeth grazing along his skin saying _please, Dean_ and _love you, Dean_ and _fuck me, Dean_.

It had been enough to undo him just like that, his baby brother’s mouth and all manner of perfect sin that fell from it - still falls from it - a fast-acting drug, potent and undeniable and completely addictive. Sam is the best high of Dean’s life.

Sam still feels the same to him as that first time after all these years. Dean knows that he’s changed, that they both have, but just as they fell into each other like it was always a foregone conclusion, written in Sam’s dimples or the small moles on his neck or the velvet skin that’s just for Dean, the space Sam’s body yields to him, that Dean’s carved into and made his own, their life together - all that it is - is home.

 _Sam_ is Dean’s home, always has been, and Sam’s eyes are still trusting, adoring, innocent in a way only Sam could be after everything the world has thrown at them. Dean knows his eyes are just as full, as telling, as thankful. When Sam’s body tenses around him, bares down and pulls him in, while he shudders and sighs Dean’s name, Dean knows that for all the monsters in creation and the hell they’ve endured, the blood they’ve lost or spilled, he’d live this life a thousand times as long as they’re together.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thank you for reading. Kudos and comments are love ❤


End file.
